


Transitory

by Storylandqueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storylandqueen/pseuds/Storylandqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's shifting, fading from one state to the other, but he doesn't know which is real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transitory

There was warmth and heat and it came from taste and touch.

(There were screams and pain and it came from being alive.)

He was pinned down and if there was one thing Dean Winchester didn’t like, it was being helpless, but even though he couldn’t move, he didn’t care. If he wanted to, if he really wanted to get up, he could, but he really didn’t want to. It felt so good to be able to relax, to lay back and let his guard down while someone else did all the work.

(There were gunshots and blood, he could taste it in his mouth and his ears were ringing. It didn’t matter, he had to keep going, so he checked the body and grabbed their rifle, slinging it over his shoulder before continuing through the house.)

Lips skimmed over his neck and teeth grazed at his collarbone while fingers danced along his ribs, every touch making his body slowly melt into the sheets. Everything was slow and methodical, a precise exploration of his body and the spots that would make him gasp. There wasn’t any rush, just caresses that moves along his skin like molasses and left him with a sense of ease he hadn’t known existed.

(He was bleeding from a gunshot to his shoulder. It was just a nick, that’s what he kept telling himself, but it hurt like a bitch and he was leaving a clear trail of bright red droplets for anyone that cared to follow him. Let them, if they dared. It would just make his hunt easier because he was coming for every damn one of them.)

The prep was careful and Dean was far too blissed out to even question it. It felt too damn good to question and he deserved something that felt nice, didn’t he? He could have something good, he wasn’t the one that was doing the touching, so he couldn’t fuck it up. Couldn’t ruin whatever wonderful thing was happening with his bad luck.

(The fight was brutal and bloody, the kind of violence that didn’t leave room for anything, only action. There were bodies at his feet and some of them weren’t even in one piece, turning the room into something not even the goriest horror movie would touch for fear of being over the top. No one else was moving and Dean wasn’t sure if he would be much longer, either, not when his own pool of blood kept growing.)

Everything was perfect and wonderful, a sense of completion and fulfillment slowly spreading throughout his body. He was drifting away on a sea of pleasant feelings as every part of his being was rubbed clean and sparked into life, the thought of _finally_ echoing inside of his mind as someone murmured his name gently. 

(There was pain, but even that was fading, everything becoming fuzzy as his vision began to blink out. It was like falling asleep only to jerk away five seconds later, except there was a pain switch attached to his conscious that made him want to do nothing more than slip away. It was such a tempting idea, the words _not yet_ just a dim suggestion in the back of his mind as someone called his name desperately.)

He’d never felt so good before and he wanted to stay that way, didn’t ever want to leave the considerate hands and the low voice telling him it was okay. Maybe it wouldn’t be bad to trust someone else to take over for a while.

(He felt horrible whenever he blinked into awareness, not able to take in anything but pain and he didn’t want that any more than he wanted to listen to the frantic voice begging things to be okay. Why did he always have to be strong?)

“Stay with me, Dean.” The voice said to him.

(“Wake up, Dean.” The voice told him.)

He felt so much.

(He felt too much.)


End file.
